Page 115 of In Rising Tides

“She will be a major asset, Wilder,” Otto breathed. “Tell us of what you have seen in the court of late.”

Jordania folded her hands in her lap. “Warick has sown much dissent.The chaos is reaching a boiling point, and the King has done everything in his power to tamp it down. Curfews and increased punishments for those even whispering of rebels.”

Wilder’s mind swirled as if it were caught in a riptide. Cracking down on all the citizens and not just the rebels would ruffle more than a few feathers. It made no sense.

“He’s a fool,” Wilder sighed, shaking his head.

Jordania smiled slyly. “He doesn’t have anyone to trust and is going off of feelings.”

“Where is the council?” Wilder asked.

“Dismantled,” she beamed. “A little bird whispered in his ear, and then treasonous letters were found.” She fluttered her hand in the air like wings. Wilder spied shadows that appeared to be ink stains on her fingers.

“How?” he asked breathlessly.

His father was no fool. They had to be pretty convincing letters and found on a person for him to have taken them seriously.

“Your uncle has spent years away from court and has learned many a new trick.” She flipped a gold coin between her knuckles before disappearing it altogether and showing both sides of her hand.

“You clever little minx,” Otto breathed.

Her smile grew before fading away like smoke on the wind. “I just hope we didn’t act too late.”

Wilder nodded, listening to the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore. So much had changed, so much was still in the process of changing.

Otto and Jordania talked softly to each other, but Wilder’s thoughts had drifted far away to a kingdom beneath the sea.

Lyra would think the curfews and rigid punishments in the kingdom were light compared to what the females of Atlantis faced, but they definitely weren’t a step in the right direction for the Wilds.

It was the exact opposite of everything he had wanted for his kingdom.

Life was already harder on their poorer citizens or the ones without a title to their name. It would be unfathomable now.

“There’s talk of decreasing food allowances if the rebellions continue …” Jordania’s words were soft, but they hit Wilder hard in the gut. “They might have already begun in my absence.”

It was night when Lyra finally managed to open her eyes.

Nerida had fallen asleep on a makeshift hammock beside her large shell bed. Her sister appeared serene in her sleep, but tiny lines creased her forehead as if she were thinking even in her sleep.

A faint glow seeped from the tentacles, casting her room in an ambient light, but shadows danced along the walls.

It was pitch-black outside the small window.

“Nerida,” Lyra’s voice croaked. Her throat was raw as if she had swollen sea urchin spines.

Nerida blinked a single eye open before gasping and sitting up quickly.

“You’re awake,” she breathed, the lines on her face dissolving almost instantly. “How do you feel?”

She clasped Lyra’s hand and leaned towards her. It was strange, the comfort Lyra felt just by a single hand.

“Strange,” Lyra’s reply was still raspy. “How long was I out?”

“It’s been a few days. What feels strange?”

Nerida scrutinized Lyra’s face, and her lips thinned.

Lyra rubbed her eyes and brushed the hair out of her face.